


Grown Accustomed to Your Vice

by allyoops



Category: Original Work
Genre: Casual Objectification, Cousin Incest, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, I mean the sex is definitely explicit but the underage part is implied, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Maledom/Femsub, Parent/Child Incest, Public Blow Jobs, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Training, Sibling Incest, Submission appears consensual because submissives believe they have no other choice, Uncle/Niece Incest, Vaginal Sex, all the consent warnings really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyoops/pseuds/allyoops
Summary: Summers at the lake are a time-honored tradition in their family, but the getaway does come with certain expectations.Sara and her sisters (usually) know better than to complain.
Relationships: Male relatives at family reunion/Wives and daughters accustomed to their unique traditions
Comments: 24
Kudos: 180
Collections: Femsub Semi-Flash 2020





	Grown Accustomed to Your Vice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ba_lailah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ba_lailah/gifts).



Sara tried to reach her pussy without Uncle Brian noticing. Her odds were pretty good, if she was careful. Uncle Brian was balls-deep at this point and not likely to notice much of anything, and Sara, who had only just started up the walk to the cottage when he found her, hadn’t had time to get herself anything close to ready when he greeted her with a kiss and a hand rubbing roughly at the crotch of her shorts to signal his intent.

Brian was not alone in his lack of interest in getting a girl ready to take him before he pushed her down on all fours and shoved his dick in, but he was definitely one of the most enthusiastic for it. Sara had whimpered through the initial penetration and his aggressive punching, but managed to wait until he found his own rhythm before risking the ingratitude of a reach-down.

Her clit was uninterested in her attention at first. The sting of her pussy and the weight of his thrusts were too distracting for immediate arousal, but Sara had some experience in this quarter, and she fumbled her fingers into a more accommodating V-shaped bracket, pushed her hips up a little—Uncle Brian groaned his appreciation of the new depths this opened up to his cock—and grimly bore down on her pubis.

The hum of her clit took another few moments to start up. Sara’s breath choked out of her in short, ragged gasps as Brian bore her down into the dirt, his punching in and out becoming more desperate and erratic, suggesting he was nearing the end of his own pleasure. Sara took advantage of the break in his rhythm to rub harder, more demanding of her own body—though still not as demanding as Uncle Brian’s cock—and felt the pressure build.

“Fuuuck,” Uncle Brian groaned over her shoulder, which was all the warning she got before his cock twitched inside her and he released.

Another two hard digs at her clit and Sara came too, a shy little flutter and a gush of lubricant she’d have been much happier about if it had come at the start of his breach of her cunt instead of the very end.

Panting, Brian pulled back and let her shift awkwardly around in the dirt, her shorts still stuck around her knees where he’d dragged them down.

“Nice,” he offered, and Sarah demurely lowered her gaze.

“Thank you.” She reached for her shorts, then hesitated. “Um, sorry, are you done?”

“What? Oh, sure, yeah,” he nodded, looking around vaguely. “Shit, I don’t have anything to wipe it—”

Sara recognized her cue and bent her head to lick her own juices and traces of his semen off his cock. Brian gave her hair an affectionate ruffle.

“Thatta girl, Sara,” he approved. “Damn, you’ve grown, haven’t you? Remember last summer?”

Sara did, and flinched in sympathy with her younger self.

“You were such a tiny thing,” he said fondly. “Still not that big, mind you, but at least I managed to get it all the way in without help this time!”

Sara finished lapping his cock clean and smiled up at him. “I’m glad I could help you enjoy yourself,” she murmured, which was one of the standard responses all the girls were taught to make, when they were looking to politely escape the after-chat of the encounter. “Um, I think Dad wanted me to help Mom with the dinner, though, so . . .”

“Right, right,” he nodded, tucking his cock back in his shorts. “You’d have had a long trip here. Don’t keep your mama waiting.” Then he gave her ass a fond slap before she pulled up her panties and shorts, fluids squishing wetly in the gusset as she started back up the stairs to finish the journey to the satellite cottage they had been assigned for their stay.

The family compound was comprised of one main house, three cottages and two bunkies in all, spread out over a small rocky island in the middle of the lake. They congregated here every summer and stayed for anywhere from two weeks to two months, depending on the particular brother and his profession’s demands on his time. Sara’s father had brought them for longer than usual this summer, since he’d got sabbatical from work so he didn’t have to rush back to teach a late summer class, which meant they got an upgrade from the second-biggest cottage to the actual biggest. Mom had been thrilled, but careful to hide it, because she didn’t need Aunt Kathy out for her blood and Aunt Kathy really cared about getting the biggest cottage.

“And she usually _does_ get it,” Mom had said on the boat ride over, “but try actually pointing that out to her the _one_ time—”

“Do not,” Dad said dryly, “try actually pointing that out to her.”

“No, of course not,” Mom said at once, and bobbed her head in contrition. Dad had waved the apology off and guided the boat to its berth.

“I’m not saying you’re not correct, Lynn, I’m just saying don’t start that. Dan will be after an apology and he’s bound to ask for a day with Mary and I don’t want to negotiate that on our goddamned vacation.”

“Of course not, Steven,” Mom said soothingly, and patted Mary’s hair. Mary had squirmed, though whether due to the infantilizing gesture or the reminder that this was her first open summer, it was difficult to say. She’d given Uncle Dan enough blow jobs in summers past to know what lay in store for her if he demanded her first summer fuck in vengeance for her mother slighting his wife.

Sara, coming in view of the hotly contested cottage, flinched in sympathy for Mary’s potential plight. Dan was both large and ungentle, and as careless as Brian had been of her, he had at least not been Dan. Dan definitely required all possible preparation to accommodate with a smile.

Reaching the cottage, Sara found it in the usual day-of-arrival disarray. Mom had commandeered the grocery supply and was overseeing its placement in the cupboards while Jon and Mark carried luggage to the bedrooms and Mary and Liz worked to unpack it and put it away. Sara arrived just as Jon and Mark, the luggage duly hauled, cornered Dad in the living room and begged to go out.

“There’s still time for a go with the boat before supper,” Mark asserted. “I’ll stay close to shore, honest.”

“And I saw Uncle Brian’s boat when we were coming up, _and_ Kathy was out on the deck as well, so Jess, Beth and Trinity are here already,” Jon added.

“Jess is off limits, sweetheart,” Mom called from the kitchen. Her lips thinned. “Pregnant.”

Mom had opinions about the younger girls going off birth control, but Dad didn’t allow her to voice them on the island. Jon was barely fazed by this, though.

“Is Trin?”

“Not that I’ve heard,” Mom admitted. “Though the way Dan works . . .”

“None of that, Lynn,” Dad cut in. Mom ducked her head, apologetic. Then Dad sighed, and looked over the edge of his book at both his sons, recognizing that they were unlikely to stop pestering until he addressed them both.

“The boat is to stay docked. You can take the canoe if you are really thirsting for some sport. And you,” he looked to Jon, “may look for Trinity, but be courteous. It’s only her second open summer, and that can be a lot for a girl her age. Give her something to enjoy about it, if you can.”

“Not likely,” tittered Liz, and Jon whirled on her in the start of a cold passion, hand upraised, only to have his father’s hand lock around the back of his collar just as Mom gave Liz’s mouth a sharp slap.

“None of that on the island, Liz,” she admonished. “Now go finish in the boys’ bedroom.”

Liz slunk away, holding her scarlet mouth, and left Dad to give Jon a shake.

“Your sisters are not yours to discipline,” he reminded him coldly. “If you want her respect, you teach her to show it to you. Now, ask your mother how long until supper, and give yourself time to get back here to wash up beforehand. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Jon muttered, and looked polite askance at his mother. Mom, finally noticing Sara hovering by the kitchen door, smiled.

“Shouldn’t be more than an hour,” she said. “Sara can get the salad for me, can’t you, dear?”

Sara nodded, shifting from one foot to the other, still awkwardly conscious of the burn and squish of her encounter with Uncle Brian.

“I’ll be back before then, Mom,” Jon promised, and headed out the door at a run, Mark close on his heels.

“Did you find the spices, sweetheart?” Mom wondered, glancing up from her work. “Were they in the boat?”

“Um, no, Mom, sorry. I think they must have been left in the car.”

Mom sighed, exasperated, and cast her eye over the meagre cottage stock. “Well isn’t that just fabulous,” she groused. “How am I supposed to make a decent meal with nothing but canola oil, salt and pepper? This may be Kathy’s idea of a good store, but it certainly isn’t mine.”

She glanced over to where Dad was once more absorbed in his paper, and Sara saw her weighing the merit of asking permission to send somebody all the way back to the car to retrieve the bag. Then she sighed, shook her head, and kept shaping the meat.

“Chop up that clove of garlic, would you, Sara? I need to salvage these somehow.”

“Yes, Mom.” Sara shifted her stance, and squished again. “Could I, uh, wash first?”

“Sink’s right there, dear,” Mom said, waving in the direction of the big, apron-front porcelain sink. She was already turning to finish shaping the burger patties, so Sara decided it wasn’t worth clarifying she’d meant something more in the nature of a full shower, and set to washing her hands with Uncle Brian’s semen still leaking slowly out into her panties.

It wasn’t doing any damage there, at least, she consoled herself. She still had one more year on birth control, and then . . . well, she wasn’t sure what then. Mary would be on her second open summer so there’d be cousins flocking around her, once they were allowed, but there’d still be enough interest in Sara that she didn’t imagine anything short of a miracle would keep her from going home without a souvenir pregnancy.

“Knife’s on the board, dear,” Mom said, as Sara dried her hands and moved into the easy, familiar rhythm of summer meal prep. The garlic was minced to even Mom’s exacting standards, and folded into the meat. Onions followed, and Mary and Liz emerged from the bedrooms to say everything had been unpacked.

Dad looked up from the chair, and beckoned Liz over. She made a face, but only to Sara, who carefully schooled her features into impassivity. Liz crossed from the doorway to the great room and stood mute in front of Dad.

“You know better, Elizabeth,” Dad said mildly. “The way you spoke to your brother was unconscionable. We can’t have you undermining his confidence like that.”

Liz nodded, gaze fixed on her toes.

“Jon deserves to feel important and respected. Demeaning him under the guise of sibling bickering is not appropriate. You will go to him tonight and make amends to him in whatever way he sees fit to ask, do you understand?”

Liz was not able to keep her lip from curling a little, but she nodded all the same.

“Yes, Daddy. Sorry.”

“It’s Jon you owe the apology,” Dad said mildly. His gaze was already drifting back to his book. “Now take off my belt.”

Liz knelt to obey, carefully working around his focus on the novel while Mom, Sara and Mary continued with supper preparations. After Liz passed the belt to Dad, she dropped her own shorts and arranged herself in front of him. He leaned forward and gave each ass cheek three sharp cracks, so they flamed scarlet and Liz, by the sixth blow, was whimpering and weeping softly into her arms. Then Dad sat back and nodded his readiness, so Liz turned to gently and reverently extract his cock, which she took into her mouth with every appearance of devoted contrition.

“Beds aired, Mary?” Mom called across the kitchen island, and Mary made a face.

“No, I’m sorry Mom, we totally forgot.”

“Well get a move on then,” Mom sighed. She glanced sideways to the great room. Liz’s head was bobbing skillfully up and down on Dad’s cock, and she had him nearly to full hardness already. “I wonder about the barbecue . . .”

Sara understood. Dad usually liked to grill, but he did not like to be interrupted when he was having his cock sucked. Asking him if he planned to grill was treading close to the boundary of his temper.

“Maybe just light it?” Sara suggested, tossing the last of the carrots into the salad bowl. “And Daddy can decide when he’s done what he’d prefer.”

“Maybe.” Mom surveyed the burgers, then shook her head. “No, it’s too presumptuous. Just put them in the fridge, honey, and some plastic over that salad. Then go help Mary with the beds.”

Sara was swift to obey, as usual, and before long she joined Mary in the loft bedroom, the sumptuous master suite with a full view of the lake and the golden glow warming on the water as the sun started down in the western sky. Mary had her back to the view, the windows flung open as she propped the mattress up on her narrow shoulders with a massive effort, scrunching her face as she struggled to turn it.

“Here, stop, wait,” Sara laughed, and ran to catch the other side. “God, it weighs a ton. On three?”

They flipped it together with only a little slippage, and Sara fetched bedding from the cupboard, snapped it wide, and helped Mary tuck it down.

“Liz not done?” Mary wondered. Sara shook her head.

“She has to suck Dad off.”

“Figures.” Mary wrestled a pillow into its case. “She can’t be surprised, can she? Not with how she can’t seem to leave Jon alone.”

“It’s the twin thing,” Sara shrugged. “She’s very nice to Mark, but she can’t help pestering Jon. I bet if we had a twin we’d feel the same.”

“Maybe.” Mary dropped the second pillow to join the first as Sara smoothed the second sheet into place, then added the quilt. “But at this rate she’s going to have to have his baby or something. She’s running out of ways to apologize.”

“Well, leave that to Dad and Liz and Jon to worry about,” Sara said. “And you focus on how to make nice to the uncles after Grandpa has his first turn with you.”

A glum expression soured Mary’s face too.

“Right.” She shifted her stance, as if anticipating the invasion to come. “Who do you think I should avoid the longest?”

Sara considered her own discomfort.

“Stay away from Brian for a bit, if you can manage it. Dan, too.”

“Obviously,” Mary said, and looked a little insulted that it even needed to be said. “But why Brian?”

Sara shrugged. “He just _goes_ for it.” She squirmed again, and this time Mary noticed.

“Oh! Is that what kept you? Mom was asking how long it took to get to the boat and back, and Dad said maybe you’d run in to somebody. Was it Brian?”

“Yeah.” The girls left the master in favor of the smaller bedroom at the other end of the loft, where the three of them slept in the trio of antique iron three-quarter beds, bright beneath exquisitely-worked quilts their great-grandmother had made. “He finished fast enough, but it was still kind of . . .” she trailed off, debating how much to tell Mary. “I had to, uh, touch myself a little.”

Mary’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.

“You won’t tell?” Sara pressed. Mary hesitated, then shook her head. Sara was conscious of deep relief. A girl wanting to come was kind of a gray area in the family. It wasn’t exactly forbidden but nobody would blame Uncle Brian if he got offended by her putting that much priority on her own needs when she was really supposed to be seeing to his.

“Anyway,” she said, “Brian’s easy enough to avoid if you stay near the house.”

“But I don’t want to stay near the house,” Mary grumbled as they arranged the beds. “I want to go swimming and take the boat out and see Ella and Jess. It’s _summer_! And we’re on the _island_!”

“Right,” Sara sighed. “But you gotta see, summer on the island is going to be a lot different now. It’s just how it is. Grandpa and the uncles this summer, and then next summer it’s everybody. So you’ll have to figure out how to work with that.”

Mary stood back from the freshly made bed and scowled at it.

“Ugh. And I thought it was bad enough at home with just Daddy.”

“When we go home after this it’ll be Mark and Jon, too,” Sara reminded her. Mary’s scowl deepened, and she scuffed her toe against the bedside rug.

“Right.” She hesitated, then asked, “are they . . . I mean, is it really awful, with them?”

Sara considered.

“Not too bad. They finish quicker than Dad. Jon’s a little smaller. Mark’s not, but he usually makes a real effort to help you enjoy it a bit, which is very nice of him. They don’t have to do that.”

Mary stared blankly at her older sister.

“Enjoy it?”

“Yeah. You know, help you—“

“Girls!” Mom’s voice flew up the stairs with the brisk urgency of a woman newly directed. “Girls, hurry along, please.”

Sara and Mary returned to the kitchen to find Liz standing stiffly by the sink, washing some of the bowls Mom had used to prepare the meal. Dad was out on the deck with the grill sending up the most delicious smells, and Sara’s mouth watered freely.

“It smells wonderful Daddy!” she called, and he waved the spatula in pleased acknowledgment of her praise.

“Cutlery, Mary,” Mom directed, and Mary zipped around to the drawer.

“Are the boys not back yet?” Sara wondered, glancing around. Mom shook her head.

“Found fun, I imagine. You’ll need to go fetch them, Sara. Your father won’t want to sit down late to supper tonight, not after . . .” she glanced grimly sideways to Liz. Sara nodded her understanding and headed out onto the deck. Her father glanced up as the screen door banged shut behind her.

“Come to keep me company, sweet pea?”

“I’d love to, Dad,” she said, and darted in to press a fond kiss to his cheek. “But Mom’s asked me to find the boys. Is that okay?”

“Yes, you’d better,” he agreed, checking the progress on the grill. “Two more turns and these will be ready.”

Released, Sara jogged down the stairs from the deck to the flagstone path, but arrested her progress when her father called her name.

“Yes?”

“Tell them I sent you, sweet pea.”

She nodded, understanding.

“Yes, Dad. Thank you!” Then she was darting up the path toward the smaller cottage where Aunt Kathy and her own daughters would be making do in the reduced space that had normally been delegated to Mom.

Aunt Kathy was in the kitchen and a hot temper when Sara tapped lightly at the door frame. Her elder daughter, Beth, hovered patiently in the background. Beth was a preternaturally tall girl, big boned, pale, pretty in a sort of pink-and-blonde Scandinavian way, and utterly uncomplaining. Beth was the daughter all the aunts suggested their daughters should try to be more like, and Beth was too nice for any of her cousins to even resent her for it. She smiled in faint greeting at Sara even as Kathy scowled, and asked, shortly,

“Yes?”

“Sorry,” Sara said, “Dad sent me.”

It was the golden ticket. Kathy got a grip on her displeasure and nodded expectantly. “What is it?”

“Are the boys here? It’s nearly time to eat.”

“They were, but they went out again with Trinity.” She gestured vaguely toward the same path Sara had just walked up. “That direction.”

As Sara nodded her thanks and spun around to retrace her steps, Kathy called, “If you find them, tell Trinity she needs to come home, too!”

Sara did not find her brothers when retracing her steps, but she did find Trinity, levering herself gingerly up from the bushes and adjusting the rumpled skirt of her sundress.

“Oh hey, Trin!” Sara greeted her. “Your mom says it’s time to eat. Uh.” She looked around. “My brothers with you?”

“They were.” Trinity made a vague effort to smooth back slippery, pale hair that tangled in the slightest cross breeze. She was petite and slight where her sister was tall and solid, but like Beth she had the kind of gentle, colorless prettiness that paired well with the faded prints and dainty sundress patterns her parents favored for her. “They left a little while ago, though.” She followed Sara’s faintly quizzical stare to her own rumpled skirt, and shrugged. “I was on my way home when Chris found me. I’m not actually late to eat, am I?”

“No, no, not at all,” Sara promised, but her attention had already been stolen. “So . . . Chris is here?”

She tried to keep her tone neutral, but something must have slipped through because Trinity gave her a narrow, knowing look.

Chris was their fathers’ youngest sibling by an improbable many years, a surprise half-brother their grandfather had got off Aunt Lissa the year before her wedding. Aunt Lissa had left the family, as girls who married out tended to do, but she had left her son behind. Chris had been away for most of last summer, but he had found Sara the day before she left and her thighs still quivered at the memory.

“Got in shortly after you did,” Trinity said, accepting Sara’s hand to help her out of the underbrush and back onto the path. “He and the boys worked out their arrival times after Mark and Jon finished with me.”

“Which way did they go, anyway?” Sara wondered. Trinity nodded vaguely toward the lower, larger cottage.

“I thought they were going back your way, but maybe they detoured. I wasn’t exactly watching, once Chris got started.”

“Right, thanks,” Sara nodded. She knew all too well how hard it was to think about anything else once Chris got started. She set off again, more slowly, weighing her options.

Going home to see if the boys were there after all was probably the most obvious choice, but since her father had explicitly sent her to bring them back, it was riskier than she liked. If they weren’t home and she came back without them, it would be up to Dad to decide if that was in line with his instruction or not. He might be feeling lenient, but if Liz had given more lip since Sara left . . .

She stood, hesitating, at the place where the path split between the larger cottage and the main lodge. She was still weighing her options when voices carried past a smallish set of bushes above the fork, and moments later her brothers came into view, chatting with Grandpa and Chris.

“Sara!” Grandpa boomed, pleased, and held out his arms. He stood tall and square on the path, as solid as ever, the close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair only adding to what Sara always felt was the innate dignity of his stature. Chris, beside him, was as darkly handsome as his father had once been, though leaner and a little taller. She risked a quick glance at his face, and was downcast to find his expression seemed neutral and reserved. She went into Grandpa’s arms at once, trading hug for hug, accepting the crushing, masculine embrace and bristly kiss, returning it sweetly, just how he liked. Then she smiled shyly at Chris, and went into his arms as well. The hug was less crushing and the kiss a little deeper, which was unexpected. She tingled from both before he released her, and kept her gaze carefully lowered as she stepped back. Looking at Chris like she wanted to might be disrespectful to Grandpa, who was entitled to her warmest attention.

“I’m glad I found you,” she told her brothers. “Dad says to come home right away; supper’s ready.”

“Do you mind, Sir?” Mark asked politely, and Grandpa waved them off, warmly good-humored.

“I’d never keep two young men from their meal! Go on with you. And Sara, too,” he added, after a more perceptible hesitation. His gaze skimmed her midriff-baring white eyelet blouse and the short, coral shorts with open appreciation. “But perhaps you’ll come to me after supper.”

She nodded.

“It would be a pleasure, Grandpa.”

Then she smiled at Chris, fluttered her fingers in collective farewell, and fell into step behind the boys on the path down to their cottage.

* * *

Supper was unremarkable, for the most part, though Liz did kneel to make her public apology to Jon and he, in turn, demanded she ride him before she ate. She did so without complaint, though she flushed and whimpered a little as her freshly-punished ass made repeated, bouncing contact with her brother’s lap. Sara took a second helping of salad as Jon wrapped his arms around Liz, rutting up hard into the core of her, and Liz leaned back into his relentless drive with a sort of keening little gurgle, helpless in her pleasure, before her twin released with a soft, satisfied grunt. Then he kept Liz on his lap, impaled on his cock, until he had finished his meal and allowed her to get off him and finally eat.

Dad clapped a firm hand of approval on Jon’s shoulder before he went in to finish his book, and Sara rose to help Mom and Mary clear the table.

“Didn’t Grandpa ask you to go up when you were done?” Mark reminded her, and Sara, who had completely forgotten, stomped her foot in dismay.

“Yes! Oh, shoot. Mom—”

“No, go, you should go,” Mom agreed, “we’ll cope with this.” But Sara shook her head.

“I need to wash first, Mom. Uncle Brian found me before I came home.“

Mom frowned, then nodded. Going to Grandpa with another man’s semen still leaking out of you was a pretty big faux pas in the family, and being a few minutes later arriving than you could have been was the lesser of the two breaches of protocol.

So Sara hurried into the downstairs half bath, propped her leg up at the sink and did the best she could with a clean washcloth and some warm water. Then she gave her hair a doubtful brush, since the lakeside humidity was more than a simple combing could combat. Soft, dark curls waved around her face in something only a trifle more intentional than pure frizz.

Consoling herself that Grandpa had previously indicated he enjoyed her curls, she left the bathroom, paused to drop a kiss on her father’s cheek and then her mother’s, and started up to the main lodge.

* * *

Grandpa had done very well for himself over the years. Nobody ever really clearly explained how, but his line of business had been sufficient not only to procure the large, rocky island as a gift for his then-bride, but to establish the main lodge when their children were small and build the other cottages up around it to accommodate their growing families. The main lodge was the best situated, a sprawling timber-sided landmark made in the tradition of such buildings, with a deep, prominent porch running the width of the cottage and many-paned glass windows setting off its square, symmetrical façade. Warm, golden light glowed invitingly from within, and Sara felt the usual rush of homesickness for a place she was already standing in as she climbed the wide, porch steps.

Chris was just stepping out of the lodge as she got there, so he must have been watching for her approach.

“Hi,” she said softly, searching his face for any telltale sign of warmth. He flashed her a brief smile.

“Hey.” His gaze did skim her body, just like Grandpa’s had, so she quickly adjusted her stance and presented for him, shoulders back, chest forward, legs slightly spread. A single hand gesture in any direction would inform her next movement, what part of her she should offer. All the girls learned as much from a young age, but Sara never obliged anybody as quickly as she did Chris, except perhaps her own father.

She thought maybe the sight of her obedience made his eyes a little darker, but he was too far away for her to say for sure. He definitely did not reach for any part of her body, though she ached with the wish that he would. Instead he just continued to stare, and she looked back at him, hoping . . .

He broke the silence.

“Better not keep Pop waiting.”

She lowered her gaze from his, accepting the correction, and nodded.

“Of course not.” She paused. “Are you staying to watch?”

But Chris was already brushing past her, down the steps, toward the path.

“Nah. Pop likes his first go to be kinda private. I’ll see you around, Sara.”

She watched him go, aching for the chance to beg him to come back and put his hands on her, to do whatever he wanted to do to her . . . but it was not her place to ask for that. So she crossed the porch to the lodge instead, and tapped lightly on the door.

Grandpa, settled into his preferred chair by the fireplace, tipped his head back, spotted her through the glass, and waved her in. She opened the door into the familiar space and crossed the same old floors she had stampeded across as a tiny girl to settle comfortably on the rug by his feet, knees folded beneath her, and smile up at him.

“There’s my girl,” he said warmly, setting his paper aside to cup her cheek fondly in his hand. “Look at you—taller this year, too! I thought you might be done growing, but I guess not. Before we know it you’ll be towering like Beth, and you’ll have to kneel just to look us in the eye.”

“I tried not to grow,” Sara teased, “but Dad said it would be ungrateful not to eat.”

“Ungrateful and foolish besides,” Grandpa agreed. “Your mother’s the finest cook any of my boys married, and that’s a fact.”

“You’ll have to come for dinner,” Sara suggested, and Grandpa agreed that was a fine idea.

“I’d bring Chris too,” he added, and she saw him watching her so narrowly she had to duck her head again. “Would you like that?”

Sara was caught in the momentary paralysis that always came of having to express admiration for one male to another. It seemed like a trap of ingratitude. How could you tell the man you were there to please that you found another man pleasing? But Grandpa wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want to know, surely. So she nodded.

“I would,” she whispered.

“Well,” Grandpa chuckled. “It’s a fine thing, to have a pretty girl glad to see you. And too delicate in your feelings for my pride to even look at me when you say so! You are a well-trained girl, Sara. Very considerate of a man’s need to be appreciated. Chris is lucky in that, to be sure.”

Then he settled back in his chair with a contented sigh, knees apart, and gave a slight nod, so she moved quickly to kneel between them and gently, reverently, unbuckle his belt.

She had learned to do this from her father at first, but in the years since she’d become keenly accustomed to their differences in preference. Dad didn’t like a lot of ceremony, but Grandpa enjoyed it when you took your time. Sara eased his cock out with well-timed awe, and let him see her looking at it with just the right mixture of fear, trepidation and humble acceptance of her fate.

“Have _I_ grown, too?” he prompted wryly, and she giggled.

“It seems bigger every time I see it,” she said, not untruthfully. “I remember three years ago just wondering how it would ever fit!”

“Well, we made it fit, didn’t we?” he recalled fondly, setting his hand to the back of her head. “You squirmed a little, but you didn’t give me too much grief . . . your mother and father might have given me cause for concern with Liz, but you and Mary are just as you should be, and Liz will come around in her own time.”

He gave a low groan, then, as Sara licked slowly up the side of his shaft, then again, and again, before settling her lips around him and suckling delicately on the tip. He used the hand on her head to pull her down roughly, and she gagged as hard as she could, knowing he’d enjoy the sound of her struggling to take the size of him. He let her pull up, gasping for breath, before she returned to suck on him again with renewed determination.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, stroking her curls, and she was rewarded feeling his cock stir between her lips.

He took longer to work to full hardness than she remembered, but she took some pride in her work, in the way he praised her each time she submitted to being choked by him, how her struggles and her subsequent submission made him grow ever harder, until at last she was starry-eyed and panting and had his erection towering in front of her face, a masterful creation of her own desire to please him.

“There, now, Sara,” he said softly. “That was very well done. And where does this belong, in a good girl?”

“It belongs inside me, Sir,” she said sweetly. “Where would you like to put it?”

“Let’s get a look at that little kitty,” he decided, so she shuffled out of her shorts and panties and stood, legs slightly spread, to let him look his fill.

“Your father doesn’t make you wax this yet?” he murmured, trailing fingers through the neatly-trimmed patch of coarse, middling-brown curls. She shook her head.

“He doesn’t like that.”

“Mmm. Well, his privilege to decide,” Grandpa shrugged, and gestured that she was to turn around and back up toward him.

Sara did as she was told, and lowered herself carefully onto his cock, sucking in her breath as the thick, broad head first made breach. She was suddenly grateful to her uncle Brian for the preparatory fuck: Grandpa accepted whimpers and tears, but he didn’t appreciate screams, and she’d have been sorely tempted to give one as he caught her firmly round the hips and drove her down onto his length.

She could never quite get used to it like this. Dad almost never made her ride him, nor the boys. They liked it from Liz, now and then, but Sara they preferred in her bed or theirs, maybe on all fours, or bent over, but most often lying spread wide and uncomplaining beneath them. Only Grandpa seemed to relish her in this manner above all others, and he was accustomed enough to her difficulty with it that he let her sit there a moment, panting wetly, struggling to accept the enormity of everything he had just thrust deep inside her.

“There,” he soothed, reaching around to tweak her nipples through her blouse. The sting and pinch distracted her nicely from the force of his occupation between her legs, and the deep cramp of him in her belly dulled a little. “That’s a good girl. You’ll be fine.”

She nodded.

“Yes, Sir. I can take it, Sir. Th-thank you.”

He pinched and rolled her nipples again. She squeaked, and felt, rather than saw, his smile. She tried to settle herself into the rhythm, to offer what he was asking of her. At his nudge she rose slightly, then resettled, flinching as his cock filled her again. Rose, then settled again, with slightly less discomfort. She sighed, relieved, and he rolled her nipples casually between the thumb and forefinger of each hand.

“There’s a girl,” he murmured. “You take it so nicely, Sara. You always do. You see?”

She did see. Grandpa was so wonderful that way. He gave you a little time to get used to it, to settle back into his needs and his particular likes, and was always so generous in his praise. When he told Sara she was doing well, it brought a full-body tingle of pleasure.

“About ready?” he wondered, and she quite brazenly postponed her answer, rising once more then settling again, silently willing herself to open to him, to make this as easy as she possibly could. Then she nodded.

“Yes, Sir.” It came out a whisper, but he did not accuse her of reluctance. Merely fit his hands to her hips and started to move her at his own, preferred speed, much more rapid than the one she’d have hoped he might set.

Her whole world centered dutifully around the punishing upward thrust. She focused on the speed and pattern he marked out, and cooperated as best she could, despite the resurgence of discomfort as his cock battered her insides and reminded her of the shape of him, the strength of him, of his appetites and needs.

It was always this way with Grandpa. You learned to bear it. He would even help you a little, if you were very sweet to him. Grandpa liked all his girls to be sweet. Mom said that was the old-fashioned gentleman in him, and Sara supposed she was right.

Grandpa was grunting now, rutting hard up into her, so Sara couldn’t help crying out a little, just at the shock of finding there was still some of her left to stretch out tight over his mighty, thrusting cock. In answer he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her back tight to his chest, and punched up sharply, staccato, demanding, _drilling_ into the very core of her until tears spilled over the side of her eyes and something built, hot, undeniable, right at the front of where his cock was driving into her.

This was the gift she always received from Grandpa. When her submission was complete, her pleasure was, too. Sara shut her eyes in unconcealed relief as her own pleasure took her, and she clenched helplessly, rhythmically, around Grandpa’s pistoning cock. At the sensation of her own enjoyment, his granddaughter’s soft cunt clutching sweetly and gratefully at his driving cock, he gasped in her ear and came too, surging inside and flooding her, to her even greater relief.

She drooped back against his chest, panting, and felt his cock twitch again, spurting the remnants of his semen. She put her hand down to where they joined and timidly, almost shyly, rubbed the spot where he entered her.

“Thank you, Sir.”

He kissed her temple and gave her nipple an affectionate tweak.

“All right, you wanton little slut,” he chuckled fondly. “Pretend you didn’t come on my cock like a whore then, eh?”

She looked back up at him through her lashes, unsure if he could see the tear tracks that still marked her cheeks, and even more unsure if he’d mind if he did.

“It’s always a pleasure to take it from you, Grandpa,” she said earnestly. “I’m so lucky.”

“Yes, well,” he rubbed her arm. “Better get along home, now. And you tell your mother to have Mary ready for tomorrow, all right? I plan to make a thorough inspection of her willingness before she’s made available to the rest of my boys, and you may tell your mother so.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sara murmured, and eased off his cock. She carefully did not brush at the wetness that slid down one thigh as she stepped back into her panties and shorts, and made sure he could see the sticky mess between her thighs as she bent over at the waist to retrieve them. Grandpa liked to see what he’d left you with, and Sara was always very mindful to show him that.

Once she had her shorts on again she bent and pressed a fond kiss to his forehead.

“Night, Grandpa!” she called, and his answering farewell chased her out into the warm, summer night and down the lamplit path back to their family’s cottage.

* * *

By the time Sara got home, everything from supper had been cleaned up and the family had selected a board game from the stash tucked in the hallway closet.

“No gamepieces missing!” Liz crowed in greeting, as Sara crossed the floor to inspect their progress. “That’s how you know we’re in the better cottage.”

“Aunt Kathy was definitely pissed,” Jon agreed, giving the dice a rattle. Dad looked up in mild surprise from his chair, where he was dividing his attention between a reread of the morning’s paper and casual observation of his children’s real estate conquests.

“Was she uncivil to you, Son? Insubordinate?”

“Naw,” Jon said, and sent the dice clattering across the board. “Just huffing at Beth while they got supper ready.”

“Beth would let her,” Liz scoffed, leaning forward to check her twin’s conquest.

“You have no right to speak against Beth like that,” Mark said sharply.

“Indeed, Beth is a dear girl,” Mom said firmly. “A lot could be learned from Beth’s example, Liz.”

“Just cause we have the same namesake doesn’t mean we can ever be the same person, Mom,” Liz sighed. Her irritation was obvious, as was its cause: she had worked out that Jon would land on unpurchased property, and his holdings were about to vastly outstrip her own.

“I wouldn’t have thought you could,” Mom said, still placid. Sara, settling onto the couch to watch the game, wondered if having everything unpacked and the first meal over had put her in a more accommodating frame of mind. “But there is still so much you could learn from Beth about a positive and uncomplaining attitude. That’s all I meant to say.”

Liz, watching Jon buy his new property from Mark in his role as banker, looked like a positive and uncomplaining attitude was about the furthest thing from her mind. But she did catch Dad’s narrowed eye over the upper edge of his paper, and quickly subsided into an expression that was almost neutral, for her.

The game eventually wrapped up at Dad’s declaration that they should get ready for bed, and Sara caught his eye as the others packed up the equipment.

“Grandpa says he wants Mary tomorrow morning,” she reported, and Dad nodded.

“Lynn? You’ll see to all that?”

“Yes, of course,” Mom murmured, smoothing her hand perfunctorily over Mary’s head, where she was bent over the remnants of their game, frozen mid-tidy. “She’ll delight him, I’m sure.”

“No doubt,” Dad agreed absently, cast a thoughtful look around the cottage, and said, with an air of satisfaction, “do you know, Lynn, I can see why you were so pleased to learn we’d be in this one this year instead. It really is quite nice.”

Then he started up to dress for bed, leaving Mom glowing faintly under this acknowledgement of her good judgement.

Sara was watching Mary, who was still frozen.

She nudged her, gently, and Mary twitched. Her hand flew out, scraped the last of the pieces into the box, and shut it with more haste than care. Sara and Liz traded glances over Mary’s head, Liz’s sardonic and knowing, Sara’s fraught with concern.

“Bedtime, girls,” Mom said, so if she had noticed too, she planned to give them their own way with it, which might make things easier.

Sara and Liz flanked Mary and followed her up to their room, where she turned to look at them with every appearance of confusion.

“What?”

“What?” Liz mimicked, and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Mary. Tomorrow. Grandpa! That’s what.”

“Oh.” Mary fiddled with the hem of her shorts. “What about it?”

“Do you know how to . . .” Sara hesitated. “Make it easier?”

Mary’s face contorted into genuine bewilderment, which was answer enough, Sara supposed. She nodded, and Liz sighed.

“Well come on,” she said, “get on the bed and we’ll help.”

Mary looked back and forth between them in some alarm.

“What—we’re not supposed to—”

“Of course we’re not supposed to,” Liz snapped. “But Grandpa’s dick is about as big around as your arm so if you don’t know how to make yourself take it with a smile you’re just going to piss him off.”

Mary’s lips parted in blank shock at so much coarse language in one sentence.

“I—” she gasped. Sara sighed.

“Look. When you had your birthday night with Dad . . . was Mom there? To, um, help? At first?”

Sudden understanding lit Mary’s face, along with a rosy, gentle blush.

“Yes.”

“Right. She made you feel good. To make it easier when Dad opened you. You liked that, I bet, right?”

Mary nodded, still pink, and Sara could imagine she was remembering the strange new flush of warmth that suffused her lower limbs and gave her some tempting promise of more to come.

“So, that feeling, you can give it to yourself, too. When you’re with the men. It’s something you have to be a little careful about, but as long as you don’t pay more attention to yourself than you do to them, most of them won’t complain.”

“Will Dad?” Mary asked, her voice tiny, as she looked back and forth between her sisters. Sara and Liz glanced at each other, and Sara sighed.

“It’s not really Dad you have to worry about,” she hedged. “Dad is . . . I mean, he doesn’t . . .” she trailed off, trying to figure out how to explain the men to Mary in a way that couldn’t be called disrespectful.

Honestly, Sara thought, they should have prepared Mary for this sooner. If Sara had been properly organized in her own mind and remembered what a milestone this visit would be for her sister, she might have wondered about Mary, and how she would adjust to Grandpa’s particular tastes. Dad was always so gentle with you on your birthday, and let you get used to everything before showing you what you’d need to do to best please him. Sara was lucky that hers was an October birthday, and she’d had until the following summer to prepare for her first time with Grandpa. Mary, in contrast, had only celebrated her special milestone two months ago, and even Dad’s moderate demands had been pretty overwhelming for her.

“Dad won’t care if you come as long as he comes too,” Liz said bluntly, taking the problem of delicacy neatly out of Sara’s hands. “It’s why he let Mom look after you first. But not all of them like it when you touch yourself cause they think it’s selfish.”

“W-why would it be selfish?” Mary whispered, eyes round and mouth tiny under the weight of so much adulthood suddenly pummeling her. Liz shrugged.

“You know the rule. Sex isn’t for women; women are for sex. Some of them take that to mean that you’re not supposed to enjoy any part of it, but honestly, they can’t tell when we do most of the time anyway.”

“Can Dad?” Mary wondered. Sara nodded.

“Yes. Sometimes he even helps.”

“Really?” Mary looked startled. Liz frowned.

“Only when he wants to,” she said. “So that’s why you need to know how.” She nodded toward the bed. “Go on. Get your clothes off and lie down.”

Mary looked doubtfully at Sara, but Sara just nodded her own encouragement too. So Mary slipped out of her clothes in the dark of their after-hours bedroom, a lithe, pale shape against the dark grey panels of the wall.

She settled onto the bed, barely heavy enough to make a dent in the quilt, and Liz and Sara advanced to join her.

“Okay,” said Liz, casually settling a hand between Mary’s legs and ignoring the way her sister still stiffened uncertainly at such familiar contact, “so, there’s one super easy way to take care of things, and it’s just . . . right about . . . here.”

Sara was watching Mary’s face, all shadowed planes and pale peaks in the moonlight that filtered in through half-drawn sheers. Sara had to admit, the way Mary’s eyes widened and her lips parted as Liz found the place she was searching for gave Sara a certain warm stirring between her own legs.

“Do you like that?” she asked softly. Liz was stroking, surprisingly patient and gentle for Liz. Mary, after a paralyzed moment, managed a nod.

“It . . . it’s sort of like . . . what Mom did.”

“Yeah, it’s the easiest thing for you to do when one of them are in you,” Liz said matter of factly. “You can just kind of reach down without them really noticing. If they do, just grab their dick and say something cute about how big and powerful it is and how you can hardly take it. They _love_ that.”

“Is that what you do with Jon?” Sara asked, amused. Liz laughed.

“No, he doesn’t fall for it. He just lets me get off. I think he’s into that, actually. Says some really filthy shit sometimes to get me hot, then when I come, he usually comes right after.” She moved her hand up to cup and squeeze Mary’s breast, watching her face carefully as she did. “Think it’s some twin thing, or something.”

“Must be.”

Sara, too, was watching Mary’s face. The snub nose was still in evidence but its freckles faded to hazy, smudgy silver in the half light. The girl lying pliant and unprepared on the bed between them was Mary, and yet not. A kind of artist’s reinterpretation of their little sister, lingering baby softness around the young woman’s jaw, her eyes dark and round in the near privacy of the room as their hands moved over her skin, tweaking, tugging, Sara’s fingers finally slipping down to the sweet, soft heat between her smooth thighs.

Mary parted her legs for Sara’s hand as if on instinct. Sara fondled and tweaked the satiny curls, a strange, gentle contrast to the crisp wires of her own. It was like even this part of Mary had not quite finished growing up, and lay soft and only partly-ripened, ready to wake.

Sara tried to imagine it was herself she was touching. She cupped her hand over the soft mound of Mary’s sex and bore down, gently, in short, purposeful strokes. She was rewarded with Mary’s breath sharpening in her ear, a little gasp, particularly damp, and bore down with a careful increase of pressure.

“Like that?” she whispered. Mary nodded, the delicate sinews of her neck tightening as she threw her head back deeper into the pillow. Liz’s mouth was wrapped around one small, perfectly-peaked nipple. She nipped and suckled gently until Mary was writhing, mewling, and Sara’s hand pressing into the softness of her was slick and wet with her arousal.

“You need to notice how it feels, Mary,” Sara coached her. “So you can make it happen too. Okay? Feel it getting all tight and hot down here?” Her hand kept kneading, stroking, petting. “Feel how it moves to the front, kind, of? Right here?” Her touch lightened and she stroked the front and top of Mary’s sex, feeling the little clit so hard and desperately ready between the bashful softness of the curls. “Touch it, Mary, okay?”

Mary couldn’t quite manage it, her own alien pleasure so fraught with newness and wonder, so Liz coaxed Mary’s right hand down to join Sara’s left, and Sara guided her fingers to about where the best spot seemed to be. Keeping her fingers over Mary’s, she helped her knead, rub, and then . . .

Mary arched up off the bed, her cries sharpening so that Liz hastily swung up and straddled her, flung a merciless hand over her mouth and stifled the sound of her sister’s pleasure.

Mary’s own touching, fumbling hand was pinned flat by the weight of Liz’s body, but Sara was able to keep stroking so Mary came again, sobbing, and Liz kept her hand clamped down until the second tide of pleasure had passed, and the threat of too-public an understanding of Mary’s needs had dramatically abated.

“There,” Liz panted, satisfied, drawing back. “That was all right, don’t you think?”

Sara propped herself up on her arm, studying Mary’s latent shock, rearranging her face into blank wonder and dismay.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently. Mary hesitated, drew a deep, shaking breath, and nodded.

“It . . . yes. It . . . thank you.”

Sara nodded, understanding.

“It’s fine. You can practice that and get better at it, too. I know we aren’t supposed to when we’re little, but it’s different now. Mom says if you’re using it to help make Dad happy it’s not selfish, and if it helps you to be good for Grandpa and the uncles, I think it’s okay.”

Mary nodded doubtfully, still clearly dazed at the newness of her own discovery.

“Do . . . do all the girls do this?”

“I dunno,” Liz shrugged. “I think Ella does, and maybe Jess, but I really don’t think Beth or Trinity do. Can you imagine Uncle Dan if they did?” She giggled, a little spitefully. “He’s so proud of Beth just getting off at the sight of his cock that one time. He’d be furious if he caught them touching themselves.”

“But why?” Mary wanted to know. She pushed herself hesitantly up in bed. “If it makes us be good for them, shouldn’t they . . . wouldn’t they like that?”

“Some of them do,” Sara nodded. “Dad does. If you look right in his face when you come, he actually gets really into it. But some of them think you should be focused on _them_. Not you. So you have to be careful or you’ll get the full round table treatment just to remind you who you’re here for.”

Mary flinched at the mention of the wide picnic table used for the occasional disciplinary group assault. The girls had only been present to observe one such punishment, when Jess had her first open summer, but the story of Aunt Lissa’s treatment on the same table was still passed around during the cousins’ private pursuits and held a sort of reverential horror all its own.

“I’ll be careful,” Mary vowed. Liz and Sara nodded, satisfied.

“And don’t worry about tomorrow,” Sara added, crossing to where she had laid out her own night clothes, fresh and ready. “Grandpa will tell you what he likes, and all you have to do is just make sure you do your best. It will be fine. You’ll see.”

* * *

It was just settling into the pre-sleep kind of quiet across the room when the door creaked. Sara, already half asleep herself, did not immediately look up because she recognized Dad’s footfall and he’d been mostly paying attention to Mary lately, so it came as a surprise when his gentle touch landed on her arm.

“Sara?”

“Still awake, Daddy,” she mumbled, and tried to push the covers down, but fumbled them in her nearly-dreamlike state. He took the quilt in hand and adjusted it, making room for himself to slide under and settle between her hips.

He was already hard, which was a relief. She spread her legs for him, smiling up at the shadowy figure in case he could see her in the moonlight. Dad always liked it when she smiled for him.

“There’s my girl,” he whispered. The nudge of his cockhead was almost comforting in its familiarity. Sara sighed in welcome, and lifted her hips so he could have better access. Dad gave a few experimental thrusts—usually two, sometimes three. Tonight it was two, and on the third he bore down with purpose and strength.

Sara took him well, he always said. Uncomplaining and with a smile. She was proud of how happy she could make him just like that. With Liz he had to remind her of her place so much it was more chore than pleasure, but Sara was his good girl, and she enjoyed the role as much as Liz seemed to take some strange kind of enjoyment in being the one who was most difficult to master.

“Mmm,” Dad breathed by her ear. She tried to keep her hips up to make his entry easier. Felt him stretch and fill her, and sighed softly in welcome, the way he liked her to. “That’s my good girl. Would you like to come tonight, sweet pea?”

She hoped he could see her eyes shining in the dark.

“Thank you, Dad. Yes, please.”

It wasn’t that she was forbidden to come other nights, it was just that some nights he actually did some of the work himself. If Sara had to guess, Mom had told him what they were doing for Mary and he meant this as her reward. Which was so thoughtful of him, really. She smiled gratefully as he began to stroke, deep and strong and sure. Dad had a way of making you feel his weight, driving you down into the bed until you were gasping under the strength of him, and she adored it. She tried to focus on all the points where they connected, his hands braced on either side of her head, his thighs pinning hers wide, ready to receive him correctly, and the demanding hardness that filled her, stroke after stroke.

“Won’t – take – long,” he cautioned, so she put her hand down to rub her clit, and stroked her own pleasure quickly to near-fullness. When she had herself nearly on the brink, she took her hand away and closed her eyes, briefly.

“No, Sara,” he said gently, “you’re to look at me.”

So he _could_ see her. Sara opened her eyes at once, obedient to his needs, and stared intently up at the night-dark silhouette moving above her. Dad was the most familiar. The uncles and cousins she knew well enough, and her brothers too, but the shape of Dad inside her was what she knew best. His breath was warm on her face, and one hand, so strong and broad, fit beneath her buttocks and angled her hip up to receive him better. Then she braced herself in anticipation and he hammered in so that she cried out softly, feeling his urgency building, letting him bring himself so near to that point before he reached down and roughly, demandingly, rubbed her where she had been touching herself.

He didn’t exactly have a skilled hand on her clit, but it was enough for Sara to know he was thinking of and desiring her pleasure simply to bring her to it.

She pressed up to meet his touch, even as it meant she took more of him inside her, even as his cock burned and stretched and filled her beyond what was strictly comfortable, it was okay because it was Dad and this was all for him anyway.

She came, sobbing quietly, clutching at his cock even as he drew his hand back, grabbed her by the hips and completed his own drive deep to the very core of her. She was still fluttering in faint aftershock, tears escaping, when he bore down and came as well, grunting softly into her ear. The sound of his pleasure brought her to her own again. _She_ had done that! He was pleased with her, he had found pleasure in her, and she had made him happy. She came again, sobbing in earnest now, so grateful for the chance to please him. She was still weeping tremulously when he rolled off her.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, and she heard the frown in his voice, so she quickly choked back the rest of her emotion.

“No, Dad. I’m sorry. I just got . . . got so overwhelmed.” She tried to remember Mom’s suggestions for how best to excuse this particular failing of hers. “It’s so much for me. But I’m so lucky. I should have been . . . I mean, I should have shown you better how grateful I was. I know you don’t like it when we cry.”

“It’s certainly true that emotion serves very little purpose,” Dad said mildly, “and it’s selfish of you to make me think I might have hurt you. You know I don’t like the thought of hurting any of you. But your mother has helped me to see this can be a difficult thing for you girls to cope with, and I hope I am not intolerant of your weaknesses in my way.”

“Oh, no, Dad,” Sara said earnestly. “No. Thank you. You did everything _so_ right, like always. I’ll be better for you next time, I promise. You’ll see.”

There was a soft kind of quiet, then. Like what she had said made him think of something else. But whatever it was he was thinking of, he did not share. Instead his weight shifted on the mattress and she could _feel_ his smile as he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Sara. You did well, as always.” He sat back and let her address herself lovingly to his wet cock, licking him clean before drawing back to give him space to rise. “Now lie down and get some rest, sweet pea. It’s quite late.”

Then he left her to settle into the pillow once more as he slipped quietly from the room.

* * *

If Mary had been encouraged by Sara’s promise the night before, she forgot it by morning. She sat at breakfast looking pale and drawn, and it was a testament to everybody’s concern for her that she was not chided for picking at her food or instructed to help with the washing up. Instead Dad glanced at the clock and nodded at Mom, who addressed herself to Mary with a firm, warm smile.

“All right, sweetheart. I’ve put out your pink dress and the white one. You see which one you think will suit you best today, and I’ll be up to have a little chat with you beforehand. All right?”

Mary nodded, pushed back her chair and stumbled up the stairs. Without missing a beat, Dad looked to the rest of them and said,

“You’re all excused.”

“But Dad—“ Jon protested, still very much in the early stages of his third helping of bacon. Dad shook his head.

“This is an important day for Mary. She needs space and understanding. I want the four of you to take the boat over to the mainland and see if you can bring your mother’s spices back from the car, all right?”

Jon was clearly ready to further protest this extremely feminine errand, because Dad added, sternly, “I will not have your sisters walking through the parking lot unescorted, do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Mark said firmly, and Jon nodded, a trifle sulkily.

“And,” Dad added, with crushing lack of sympathy, “no sex in the boat. Is that clear?”

The “yes Sir” was even more dejected than before, but still audible. Satisfied, Dad nodded his dismissal and the kids scattered as Mom brought Dad’s second serving over to set before him.

* * *

They burst out of the cottage with a clatter and raced their way along the footpath down to the dock. The girls settled in while Jon pushed them off and leaped aboard, and Mark guided the craft out onto the open water. The morning was clear and a little cool, so much so that Sara was grateful she’d thrown a sweatshirt on over top of cami and shorts. Liz had only a dress-shaped cover up on over her swimsuit, and was complaining vigorously of cold before they had even put a quarter-mile between them and the dock.

“It’s your own fault,” Jon scorned her. “You could have changed.”

“You’d have complained if you had to wait,” Liz countered, which was probably true, but Jon pretended it wasn’t.

“As if I would want you to be cold!” he said virtuously. “Here, come here, I’ll warm you right up.”

“You heard Dad!” Liz yelped, as his questing hand went up between her legs. “No sex in the boat!”

Jon laughed. “Not like that, idiot. Like this.” A strong arm wrapped around her torso, securing both arms to her sides, and he tugged her into a bear hug on his lap. “There. Better?”

“A bit,” Liz admitted grudgingly, and snuggled in closer. “Thanks.”

Jon then ruined the moment by pretending to die of shock at her gratitude, and Liz started knocking him upside the head, so Sara and Mark had to come between them. Sara offered her sweatshirt as compensation for the loss of Jon’s body heat, but Mark intervened.

“No,” he said firmly, “she should have brought her own. I won’t allow her poor planning to cost you your comfort, Sara.” So Sara subsided, quietly compliant, and let Liz snuggle into her side the rest of the way to the mainland dock.

The marina was already stirring to life when they arrived, and Mark made short work of securing the boat to its mooring point. He led the retrieval party up the boardwalk to the parking lot, all the way to where their gleaming family car was neatly parked in the shadiest spot Dad had found on their arrival the day before. He held the door for Sara while she fished through the interior and at last came up triumphantly clutching the brown-paper package of spices that had rolled from Mom’s collection of kitchen items.

“Got it!” she exulted, and cradled it carefully to her chest as she backed up from the car.

“Nice,” approved Jon, who was already herding Liz toward the still-open doorway.

“What the hell?” Mark complained, and Jon shrugged.

“Dad said not in the boat. He didn’t say anything about the car.”

Mark looked like he clearly wanted to challenge this, but at the same time also didn’t have the will to argue the point, especially since Jon had already made a fist of Liz’s hair and was holding her head in readiness as he unbuttoned his pants.

“Fine,” he said at last, “but make sure she swallows. Dad’s going to kill you if you jizz all over the seats.”

Jon gave a chipper little salute. Mark rolled his eyes and shut the door. Sara stood meekly beside him, spices held close to her chest, and offered,

“Do you . . . I mean, if you like, I’d be happy to—“

“Oh,” he flashed her an appreciative glance, “thanks, Sara. Really. You’re sweet. But I told Beth to meet me by the docks this morning, so I want to make sure I, uh, I’m ready for her.”

Sara nodded, understanding.

“You really like Beth, don’t you,” she said quietly. Mark flushed. For a moment she thought he’d tell her to butt out, but ultimately he nodded, and studied his feet.

“She’s a real nice girl. Doesn’t give lip or anything. Quiet, and, uh, sweet.” He smiled a little bashfully at her. “Kind of like you. But,” with more of his usual, clinical honesty, “she enjoys herself a lot more than you do.”

Sara considered.

“Do you think so?”

“Oh, yeah. She gets really into it. Whatever I want to do, Beth doesn’t hesitate. Just gets this nice soft smile on her face and says yes, Sir.” He shut his eyes, as if seeing it in that moment. “I love that.”

Sara knew the smile he was talking about, and she had to agree with him there. Beth had a sort of blissful, bovine complacency to her submission, all slow and steady and guileless. She could see how somebody with Mark’s inability to articulate his desires would appreciate that. She also thought somebody as sweet and yielding as Beth would probably appreciate that Mark, for all his particular flaws, still lacked Uncle Dan’s special rough streak. She found herself patting Mark’s hand awkwardly and saying she was really happy for him.

He grinned, cheeks red.

“Well, slow down. I haven’t even really talked to her father, though I did tell Dad last night. I thought at first there might be a problem with Chris, because he was all over her and Trinity last summer, but turns out, he, uh . . .” Mark hesitated. “He’s not into Beth.”

Sara blinked.

“Really?” She swallowed. “Did tell you who—”

But before she could finish the question, the car door opened and Jon sprang out, looking utterly pleased with himself. Liz followed, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, and rolled her eyes at Sara. Sara grinned at both of them, and let Mark marshal everybody back into a group to return to the boat. The girls sat on one side in the increasing warmth of the morning sun as they zoomed back across the water toward the island.

“I’m lucky he’s quick,” Liz said lightly, but Sara could see the telltale flush of pleasure around her sister’s neck and cheeks, and just smiled.

“You’re lucky he likes you talking back to him,” she observed. Liz laughed.

“We’re too alike for him to hate it,” she said. “I think it gets him hot for me, actually. He can pound Trinity into the dirt on her knees all he likes, but _I_ know what gets him off.” There was a real smugness in her voice, and Sara wondered what it might be like to have somebody of whom she could say the same.

She knew her brothers’ foibles well enough, she supposed, but she only ever behaved one way for them. Smile, and submit. Easy and unremarkable. It was a little more deliberate with Dad and Grandpa because they were good about telling her how to make them happy, and she was good at remembering. With the uncles and cousins you mostly held still and let them do as they liked, but she wondered what it would be like to know somebody so well that your confidence in your own ability to give them perfect pleasure would make your eyes shine and your skin glow warm and bright, like Liz’s was right now.

Unbidden, her thoughts flew to Chris, and her first open summer three years ago. Chris was technically an uncle, even if he was also Aunt Lissa’s son, so he’d been allowed to have his turn like all the other uncles. He had come around almost every day, and she’d been so flattered, then confused the next year when he only visited her twice their whole stay. Last year he had been away for most of it, only returning their final day there, but on that last day his whole face had lit up at the sight of her and he had pulled her into the boat house an hour before they left. He’d made such thorough, relentless use of her she had come undone completely. Collapsing into a sobbing heap of desperate pleasure, babbling her thanks for his mastery of her until the words lost all meaning and he had finished without her even fully knowing it until after the fact, when her thoughts had cleared and she’d sat up to find him watching her, an utterly unreadable expression on his face.

“Earth to Sara,” Mark drawled, and she jerked, startled, to find that the boat had returned to the dock already and she was still staring into space, seeing things that had happened a year or more ago.

“Sorry,” she said in a rush, and darted off the boat.

Some of the cousins were already down by the water, towels flung over rocks, and Liz and Jon were heading down to join them. Mark kindly offered his hand to assist Sara in the descent, and did not release her until she was standing firmly on the shore.

“Trin, where’s Beth?” he called, and Trinity, already wading gingerly out into the water, pointed up the steps to where Beth was descending, draped in a lovely, semi sheer turquoise coverup that allowed her curves to hint at their generosity in a way that, Sara could tell from his expression, stirred Mark to a kind of burning excitement she had never seen in him before.

“Hurry up, Beth,” she called, laughing. “Mark’s got the patience of a saint, but I wouldn’t want to test it.”

Mark gave her a mortified slap to the rear, which made her leap, then giggle, and shake her head.

“You gonna make her suck you off in front of everybody?” she wondered.

Mark hesitated. She saw his indecision, and understood the reason. It was the kind of public claim the other cousins would understand, and if Beth would submit to it without embarrassment, it would be as much a declaration of her willingness as anything else she could do. Of course, any hesitation or embarrassment would be pretty telling too, and Sara was very anxious that Mark not suffer the sting.

Still, there was very little power a girl had over any boy in their family. Her ability to show her acceptance of his desire was one of the few. If Mark was willing to risk the humiliation of her reluctance, it would be its own kind of gesture on his part. Almost romantic. Sara held her breath, watching him debate and weigh his options. Beth was almost to the beach, blushing pink at them so closely following her approach, when he seemed to make his decision.

“Beth,” he said, and Sara marvelled that his voice could sound so steady, calm and sure. He almost reminded her of Dad in that moment. “I want you to suck my cock.”

He didn’t shout it, but they heard him all the same. Interest rippled across the formerly laughing crowd of cousins, some still arriving, others already well in the throes of bathing. Heads turned to observe Beth’s response.

She smiled beatifically at Mark, positively angelic in her pink-and-white prettiness.

“I’d be very happy to,” she said sweetly. He nodded, aloof but appreciative.

“Get on your knees and open your mouth.”

She delicately settled her folded towel on the rocks as his feet, and dropped in obedience to his command. She had to duck her head a little to arrange it at the appropriate height, but she did not give any sign of complaint and her eyes, Sara marvelled, never left his face. She really was such a lovely girl, large and soft and sweet. Her voice was so gentle, all simple yes Sirs and no complaint. Sara understood why she would appeal to somebody like Mark.

She was genuinely happy for her brother as there, on the beach, Beth opened her mouth to receive Mark’s cock like she had been waiting her whole life for the privilege.

The cousins all gave an appreciative round of applause, and then mostly left them to it. Sara dipped her toes in, watching Liz and Jon both dive in and race each other to the floating platform a little way off the shore. She was mostly lost in thought, and missed hearing the approach behind her until gentle breath warmed her neck and a voice as rich and smooth as dark chocolate spoke her name.

“Hey, Sara,”

She yelped, and twirled, and almost overbalanced. A strong arm caught her confidently about the waist and she blinked up into the most charming combination of amusement and chagrin writ across a handsome face.

“Chris,” she said, and was mortified that it came out as a squeak, but he only smiled and settled her upright.

“Mark made his claim on Beth, huh?” he noted, and she nodded, looking over to the beach where Mark now had both hands fisted in Beth’s hair and she, mute and grateful, had taken him all the way into her throat. “Well, make a nice change for her after her father, I guess.”

“I hope Uncle Dan will say yes,” Sara murmured. “I’d love for Mark to be happy like that.”

Chris nodded, leaning back against the dock. “I doubt he’d say no. He might want to, but Pop approves, and you know that’s what really counts around here.”

Sara knew.

“Grandpa told you what Mark wanted?” she wondered. Chris shook his head.

“Mark told me. We had a chat last night, before I took Trin off their hands. Told me he was just desperate to get a yes for her, so I said I’d check with Pop. Seemed to surprise him. He thought I might—uh. But then, I can see why he’d think so. She’s a real nice girl, Beth.” He cleared his throat. “But, uh, she’s for Mark. And Pop agrees it’s a good fit, so Mark shouldn’t need to worry.”

Sara examined her toes, and thought of Mary.

“Is Grandpa still . . .”

Chris nodded. “With Mary? Yeah. She’s been in there since you left in the boat. I imagine he’ll be done with her around lunch time.” He rubbed a rueful hand across his stomach. “At least, I hope he will.”

“You could always eat with us,” Sara suggested shyly. “Now that Mom has her—” she broke off, horrified, and looked down at the parcel she still held. “Oh, no. I still have her spices. She’ll be so angry with me if I don’t get these up to her.”

Chris stood aside with a polite gesture.

“Could I . . . would an escort be an appropriate thing to offer?”

Sara, who knew that absent an escort she stood a very high chance of getting jumped by an uncle who would have been deprived of easier targets when all the girls assembled on the shoreline, nodded gratefully.

“Thank you, yes. That would be very kind.”

Chris shadowed her from the boat up the stone steps, and then along the lower pine-needle-strewn path. He walked quietly behind her, nothing but quiet breath and the slip and squeak of old, brown needles underfoot. Sara found herself matching her own breaths to his, and something soft and peaceful stole over her.

They were almost to the path leading up to the cottage when Chris cleared his throat, and Sara, sensitive to the type of request that this sound usually preceded, at once turned to him, ready to meet whatever demands he might make of her. Instead, he just stared at her, intent, focused.

“I think about you all the time, Sara.”

Her eyes widened. She felt her mouth get very small and round, the kind of tiny O that Mary’s mouth had made in the dark the night before. Chris stared at her mouth, and she could tell, just by the way his eyes darkened, that he very much liked what he saw.

Something warm and tingly started glowing between her legs at the knowledge that the very sight of her could make Chris look like that.

“Did you know that?” he said at last, and she shook her head. “You didn’t . . . your brothers never told you?”

Sara shook her head again.

“I thought maybe you didn’t like me,” she said honestly. “That I did something wrong.”

“Christ, why?” he gasped, then flushed, and said “sorry.” Because as comfortable as the other uncles and cousins might be with it, Grandpa still had very strict rules about cussing in front of women, and Chris was very well brought up. All the mothers said so.

“Because after the first summer, you never seemed to want me. At least, hardly ever, and one of those times it was you and Bryce together and that was mostly him. So I thought I must have done something wrong.”

“Right. Yeah, I . . . Pop made me back off, after the first summer. I was on you all the time and he said it was selfish of me. Not to give the other guys a go at you, and let you learn how to please them too. But I asked him for you that first summer, Sara. I asked your dad, too. You really didn’t know that?”

“No,” Sara whispered, shocked. She’d had absolutely no idea.

“They said I had to wait. Because I wasn’t done college and I couldn’t support a family like that. Pop is going to make me part heir, but he still wants to see me run a business. Says a man who can’t manage workers can’t hope to manage a woman. And that’s fair, I guess, but I knew I wanted you from that very first time. It’s why I kept coming back for you the first summer, and it’s why I stayed away so long last summer, cause the summer before that it was absolute hell—sorry—it was _hard_ staying away from you like Pop said I had to. I’d have been on you every day if he’d have let me, I promise.”

Sara flushed and the tingling between her legs intensified.

“Really?” she whispered. Chris nodded fiercely.

“I swear it. But he said no, and of course I want to respect Pop. But I’m done at college, now, and I’m doing pretty well for myself. Pop is pleased. And he says if your Dad gives me the okay, this—this can be your last open summer. If you like. And you can be mine after that. If . . . if that would be okay.”

Sara stared up at him in blank amazement.

“Really?” she said again. It was the only thing she could think of _to_ say. Her incredulity had completely overtaken her, and she stood, clutching her mother’s packet of spices to her chest in mounting disbelief that not only did Chris not dislike her or wish to avoid her, he actually wanted to make the most permanent claim a man in their family was allowed to make on any girl in it.

He wanted her to be _his_.

“It wouldn’t be before next summer,” Chris cautioned. “And Pop pointed out you’re . . . still kind of young. So your dad might want me to wait another year, and of course it’s his right to request it. But if you think you’d be happy like that, with me, I—I’d like that very much.”

She stared at him, utterly dazed. Was still staring at him when the door to the deck of the cottage up the hill opened, and her mother called, “Sara? Is that you? Do you have them?” and she jerked back to life.

“I have to . . .”

Answer him. She had to answer him. To tell him yes, she definitely did want that. But she felt she should also tell him a better way, a more complete and thoughtful way, and she couldn’t do that when Mom was standing there waiting for her spices.

Thankfully, Chris understood.

“We’ll go up,” she decided, so she fell into step beside him, just as he said, and they went up to meet Mom together. She was happy to see Chris, and invited him to join them to eat right away.

“I think Beth might come, too,” Sara said, which brought a new light to Mom’s face, and a knowing nod.

“How wonderful,” she said, and she really did sound like she meant it.

They went into the house with her and found Grandpa and Dad were already settled in the living area. Chris joined the men in the living room and they fell to chatting. Sara helped Mom arrange the food and it was all so easy, so comfortable, that Sara had no trouble daydreaming about a time in the more distant future when it could be this way but even better.

There was no correct way she knew of to say as much to Mom, though, so instead she asked, “. . . . Mary?”

“Having a wash and a little lie-down,” Mom said lightly. She glanced toward the living room, then lowered her voice. “Your Grandpa is pleased. It was a lot for her, of course, but . . . she’ll cope well enough. The uncles will get their turn after she naps and has a bite to eat.”

Sara nodded, the rituals a comfortable familiarity by now in the order of her own understanding.

“That’ll be the hard part done with anyway,” she said, and Mom nodded her agreement.

“Really, I think it’s all gone very well,” she said. “Mary’s not a complainer, so I wasn’t _very_ worried, but she’s still quite new to it all. Your Grandpa said she was very sweet to him, though, and even seemed to _enjoy_ pleasing him, if you understand what I mean, which you know he always likes.”

Sara smiled into the tomatoes she was chopping, and nodded.

“I know.”

The family trickled in as the meal took shape. Mary was eventually fetched down from her bed, a little stiff on her legs but still managing to smile for them all, and duly applauded as she—gingerly—took her seat at the table.

“To a very pleasing and obliging little woman,” Grandpa toasted, lifting his glass, so of course they all followed suit, and the meal disappeared in short order.

The girls swept it all away afterward, according to the rhythm of their routine, and the presence of Beth as their guest, pitching in with the chores as if she had grown up beside them doing it, made a surprisingly comfortable addition.

“I’m happy for you,” Sara managed to whisper, as they wiped down the picnic table together, and Beth beamed her acceptance of this.

“Thank you,” she said simply. “I’m so pleased Grandpa approves. I only want to make Mark happy.”

Sara thought of the look on Mark’s face when Beth had dropped to her knees on the beach in front of everybody, and she smiled.

“You will,” she said. “You already do.”

She had thought that would be the end of the family gathering, then, but a stirring of movement caught her eye. Looking over to the kitchen doorway she saw the men emerge, Mom and her sisters behind them, to arrange themselves in a politely observing formation along the wall of the cottage.

Then Chris stepped forward, hands in his pockets, easy, confident, and Sara’s heartbeat picked up to a clatter in her chest.

She let the wash rag drop to the table, and turned to face him.

“Sara,” he said softly, “do you want me to make you kneel for me?”

Kneel for him? In front of Mom and Dad and Grandpa and everybody? It was a question with all the other questions behind it. She didn’t—couldn’t—trust herself to answer. Not with her words. She just nodded.

Chris smiled. Then he squared himself on the deck before her, looked her right in the eye, and said “Get on your knees, Sara.”

She dropped at once, pure obedience, no hesitation. She did not break eye contact, and she was thrilled to see that seemed to please him. At least, he smiled a little, and stood close enough that she could lower his shorts without any difficulty and reach out to cradle his cock in her hands with all the reverence due to a brother of her father and a son of her aunt.

 _He could be the only man I do this with, someday_ , she thought, a little overcome by the thought of that kind of exclusive mastery. Just one man, over all men in her life. The way Dad had been to her before her first open summer, when all the other men had begun to teach her, too.

When Chris had taught her, for the first time.

Without even fully realizing it, she had already taken him in her mouth. She was sucking him now as if she’d sucked him every day since the first time. Confident but not too forward, because Chris liked her to keep checking in with him, raising her eyes to his, seeking guidance and approval, or learn from his decision to withhold approval that there was something better she could do. She relaxed her jaw as much as she could, and was thrilled to discover how much of him she could accept before gagging.

He even let her draw back to gag, didn’t force her back down onto it, and she returned as fast as she could with greater confidence, bobbing skillfully up and down on his shaft until he groaned and put his hands down to grip fistfuls of her curls.

That was all the warning she got, but it was enough. She dropped her jaw and took a nervous, deep breath and then suffered without any complaint the quick, aggressive, masterful assault on her throat. It was probably a half dozen punches with his cock all told, and she longed to reach her hand down between her legs to stoke her pleasure to full inferno, but in front of Dad and Grandpa both she didn’t fully dare. Instead she rocked back and forth as he thrust, dragging her throbbing pussy along her calf, focused on how completely he owned her in that moment, how his presence inside her was all that mattered, and she came, choking, gasping around the thickness of his cock, and _he_ came, and she gulped it down gratefully, bitter and distasteful but part of _him_ so that was okay, too.

He stood back then and smiled kindly down on her, and she blinked, dazed, before remembering to smile gratefully up at him.

“Thank you,” she said, and they both laughed because her voice cracked a little after the assault on her throat.

“It’s always a pleasure, Sara,” he said warmly, and extended his hand to help her up from the deck. “Truly. Always.”

 _Always_ thought Sara, and the promise of that word sent a delicious little aftershock through the core of her.

Then Chris wrapped his hand around hers, and they turned, together, to face the applause, cheers and congratulations of their waiting family.


End file.
